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We were out of time.
I took Nova by the shoulders. “We’ll get through this,” I told her. “We’ll figure out how to escape from here. I promise.”
11
ASHALE
Last night’s dried blood still lingered in my mouth, a tangible testament to the battle I’d faced.
Every fiber in my body screamed in protest, but I couldn’t afford to show weakness, not in this place.
As I stepped into the training grounds, the distant hum of the prison’s energy barriers buzzed in my ears — a constant reminder of the cage we were all in.
My students formed a semi-circle, watching me with a mix of concern and expectation.
Ralen, a fiery-red reptilian teenager who was always eager to learn, was the first to speak up. “Master Ashale, you should be resting. You’re not well.”
I looked at him, blinking slowly to clear my groggy vision.
I tried to steady myself, but my senses were off-balance.
The distinct aroma of sweat and determination mingled in the air.
“I’m fine,” I lied, forcing a confident smile. Though, the salty tang of doubt was already lingering on my tongue. “A warrior must be prepared to fight, regardless of the circumstances.”
Kala, a slender blue-skinned humanoid with shimmering scales, stepped forward, his large, almond-shaped eyes filled with concern. “We can handle it today. You’ve taught us well. You should rest.”
I appreciated their concern, but there was something they didn’t understand.
I needed to fight, to keep Nova safe.
My fingers brushed against the cool hilt of my training blade, its familiar texture grounding me. “I appreciate your concern,” I said, “but today, we train as planned. Let’s begin.”
The students exchanged worried glances but obeyed.
We started with basic warm-up drills, the rhythm of their movements slowly filtering into my clouded senses.
The soft thuds of their feet against the ground, the hiss of blades cutting through the air, the musky odor of exertion — it was almost comforting.
But as the intensity picked up, my own inadequacies became more apparent.
My movements were sluggish.
The usually fluid dance of attack and defense felt more like stumbling through mud.
The world seemed brighter, the overhead lights glaring down at me with a burning intensity that made my head throb.
My breathing grew labored, and my ears rang with a mix of exertion and the ambient noise of the prison.
Ralen approached, blade in hand. “Let’s spar, Master Ashale.”
He tried to keep his tone light, but the hesitancy in his eyes spoke volumes.
I nodded, readying myself.
Our blades clashed, the sound sharp and clear.
Ralen’s moves were aggressive but calculated, and I found myself on the defensive more than I liked.
